All Chapters of The Reclusive CEO’s Substitute Bride: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Elena’s POVThe storm hasn’t eased since last night’s dinner. By ten o’clock Saturday morning, the rain lashes against the glass ceiling of the greenhouse, sealing me inside a world of water and soil.I fold away the silk gown from dinner and pull on a warm knit sweater and dark trousers. My gloves stay tucked aside. Only here, with dirt under my nails, does my mind slow enough to think.“Consider yourself on probation.” Alexander’s voice echoes in my head. One mistake, and my grandmother’s lifeline vanishes.I press my palms against the wooden bench, grounding myself. The storm outside is relentless, but inside the conservatory the air is heavy, humid, clinging to my skin. It smells of damp earth and green life.Today, my mission is medicine. I remember the morning I first ground lungwort and eucalyptus, hiding the mixture away in jars, too afraid to use it. But today is different. Today, I will risk releasing it into the mansion itself.I gather eucalyptus stalks, lungwort leaves,

Alexander’s POVThe stagnant, clinical air of my private study offers no relief. I sit completely motionless at my massive slate desk, my dark eyes fixed flat on the digital monitors flashing their cold blue light across my broad shoulders. I have my black coat discarded, my charcoal dress shirt clinging tightly to my frame. My right fingers are curled into a tight fist resting on my thigh, the Vance family debt documents reflect on my laptop screen awaiting my fingerprint but I refuse to sign them. Something about my new wife does not add up, and I will not lock in this contract until I know what she is hiding.Suddenly, my chest hitches. A sharp, violent cough splits the quiet room, making my large frame tremble against the desk. I drop the pen, my teeth bared in an expression of pure, familiar agony as my scarred lungs contract, starving my mind of oxygen. The damage from that five-year-old accident is a relentless tormentor. I reach blindly toward the lower drawer where my inhaler

Elena’s POVThe morning sun does not bring warmth to the West Wing. It presses against the tall windows as nothing more than a pale smear of light, swallowed by the gray mist that clings to the glass. The air is damp, heavy, and cold. I dress slowly, my hands stiff inside Alyssa’s silk gloves, my mind replaying the dinner from last night. Alexander had not spoken a single word, but his gaze had been relentless, a silent countdown clock ticking in the shadows.By nine o’clock, Harris knocks on my door. His knuckles rap against the carved oak with mechanical precision. My pulse leaps. I know what this means: the mandatory morning business check-in in the grand study. I smooth my gloves, lift my chin, and force my steps into a steady rhythm down the long hallway. The marble floor is cold beneath my heels, each echo a reminder that I am walking deeper into the lion’s den.The study door opens, and a shadow falls over me instantly.Alexander is already there. He sits behi

Elena’s POVThe heavy wood of my bedroom door clicks shut, locking out the freezing corridors of the West Wing. The quiet inside my suite rushes over me like cold water. My legs give out, and I slide down against the door, collapsing onto the floorboards.I rip the white silk gloves from my hands. My palms are slick with sweat, my fingers trembling so violently that the gloves slip from my grasp and fall onto the rug.My phone lies blank in my lap. I stare at the dark screen, but my father’s cruel words stay stuck in my head like a nightmare. Monday morning. The bank will freeze everything. The hospital will turn off her machines.I drag my gaze to the tall window. Outside, the London fog is thick and grey, swallowing the neglected gardens below. The clock in my head ticks louder. Today is Friday afternoon. That means I have less than three days before the weekend ends. Less than three days before Monday arrives."I cannot wait for him to sign on his own tim

Elena’s POVThe heavy double doors swing open with a slow, deep groan. Behind the thick fabric of the velvet curtain, I squeeze my eyes shut and press my hands tightly over my mouth. I do not dare to breathe. The air in my tiny hiding spot is hot and suffocating, but the glass window against my back is freezing cold.Heavy leather boots click steadily against the hardwood floor boards.Click…thud. Click... thud. Each step lands like a countdown.My blood turns to absolute ice. That slow, heavy, rhythmic stride does not belong to Harris or any of the household servants. It belongs to the master of the fortress.Alexander is back.He was supposed to be in the city until very late tonight, but he is standing right here inside his dark office. My heart hammers so violently against my ribs that I am terrified he will hear it through the curtain lines.I hear the heavy rustle of his long black coat as he slides it off his broad shoulders and throws it onto the leather sofa. Then, his boots